So, everyone is drunk. The basic breakdown to the evening is thus. I woke up, Gran had a stroke, I complained about the noise, the reasoning behind it was explained. "Your Gran is having a stroke." Much like I often do, or am I referring to something else?! Who knows, but I am not disturbed. We are all animals and sometimes, often, we die. So, I got a parcel from the lovely lass and it included a phone (so now I am mobile again - same number and all that), a letter that left nothing to the imagination and is document I imagine I will be studying at great length and with much exertion, plus, and this is ingenius and it shows she knows me so well so soon, a copy of 1969's June issue of Playboy. What a gift. The porn is miniscule but relevant, and I am loving the appreciation it gives me of the epoch. The adverts. I shan't attempt to describe them but, trust me, it is a gift worth having. The girl is a player. I want to be with her right now, but she is miles away. What is to be done? I know, I should catch a plane. She will wait, she will simmer and then, when the time is right, we shall be together. Nuff said.
It’s been an age since I’ve left any detritus on these pages. In the face of mySpace, then Facebook and now Twitter with a background of belated maturity, engagement, house purchase, proper job, this tired old blog has been left to fester. I do miss it though. Perhaps I can provide additions every now and then? But what to write and when? Busy at work, the kitchen is still far from complete, the sun is very much out and, oh yeah, I forgot, I don’t BLOG!!! Ha AH!! Almost got me there. Bloody social networking. Bollocks. That is all. Long Live Hunter S Thompson!!!!